


Personal Space

by Madalayna



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: ALL the tags, Angst and Porn, Attempted Seduction, Breaking Up & Making Up, Dating, Dorks in Love, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Feelings, First Kiss, Fitz has no boundaries, Fitz is a bit of a romantic too, Fitz is a breast man, Fitz is insecure, Getting Together, Have I mentioned the smut?, I replace plot with angst and be done with it, Jemma is a romantic, Little bit of Fitz POV, Making Out, Mirror Sex, Mostly Jemma Simmons POV, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Canon, Post-sandwich, Prepare for the oncoming smut, Romantic Gestures, Sexual Frustration, Skye is crack-tastic, Skye is the comic relief, Stargazing, Super smutty ending, The Author Regrets Nothing, True Love, What Have I Done, What Was I Thinking?, Working Out My Feelings Through Fic, Yep that's what I said, especially not all these gorgeous tags, fun with dwarfs, hurry up and kiss!, intellectual soulmates, personal bubble violations, post-age of ultron, science-y feels, though it's more like planetgazing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-26
Updated: 2015-05-02
Packaged: 2018-03-25 22:48:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3827851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madalayna/pseuds/Madalayna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The sandwich! Love, Jemma! The handholding! But Fitz still hasn't made a move on Jemma. This is an AU that takes place sometime around the end of season two. Jemma is getting a bit frustrated because Fitz has no personal boundaries anymore and keeps getting a bit—<em>ahem</em>—close. Sexually frustrated Jemma takes some questionable advice from Skye and some, y'know, angsty ironing out of the wrinkles in their relationship ensues—but in a fun way! Includes light angst, awkward dating and first time happy happy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which Jemma Needs Space

Fitz's proximity hadn't particularly bothered Jemma before, not back when they were "just friends".

But they weren’t "just friends" anymore. She wasn’t sure what they _were_ but it certainly wasn’t _that_. Though things were comfortable again, that much was sure. They were finally able to work together in the lab. They laughed sometimes now, joked with one another. She would catch a glimpse of the old hurt in his eyes on occasion, but mostly he seemed happy again. They were in a sort of limbo of not being "just friends" but really not anything else either. So, it seemed all she could do now was wait.

Jemma thought she’d made it clear to him that she was ready to move forward. Being now quite prepared to take things in the direction of the romantic relationship Fitz had suggested he wanted with her. But now things had settled down again and he _still_ hadn’t made any move toward changing their status. All their latest projects had gone off well and their working relationship, at least, was seemingly back to normal. But, to Jemma’s dismay, nothing much had changed from the basic professionalism they’d always adhered to. Well, except when it came to her personal space. Her sphere had gone from the size of the lab, during their estrangement, down to the width of whatever clothing she was wearing now. And it was driving her absolutely crazy. Her body seemed to want to hover in a constant state of near arousal.

Fitz had never been much for giving Jemma her fair allotment of personal space, instead, choosing always to invade her meager bubble with unusual frequency and extreme prejudice. Even at the Academy, he’d always been the the hugger, the one with the comforting touches or the arm around the shoulder for photos. The more they worked together, the more comfortable he got. If she needed help with an experiment, he felt she was doing something incorrectly or even if he just wanted to get a better look at an object she was working with, he would cut smoothly in front of her whether there was room for him there or not. He’d brush his lean torso against her and she would feel his feverish body heat. Occasionally, he would just come up behind her and put a hand to her back or brush down her shoulder enticingly on the pretense of getting her attention. _A likely story!_ She’d always found these habits a bit annoying in the past, now it was was just downright frustrating as her body tried to work out the appropriate response.

Jemma was trying to get the casing for one of the D.W.A.R.F.s open, but it was stuck. She needed to make some modifications to it for the next mission. She’d asked Fitz for one of his tools to get it free with and he’d brought her a small pair of pliers and an even smaller screwdriver.

“ _Don’t_ damage it,” he warned. He was hovering at her elbow, his head darting around trying to get a good angle so he could properly see what she was doing. This wasn’t the sort of help she had in mind.

His chin was practically on her shoulder as he watched her trying to pry the drone open with the ridiculously tiny tools. She felt the ghost of his hand on her back but when she tried to ease back into it she found nothing there. She got the screwdriver into the catch and he actually reached out as if to help her and then pulled his hand back sharply. She wasn’t sure if it was more upsetting that he didn’t trust her to get his drone open or if the whole thing was just bloody _sexually_ frustrating. His hand seemed to hover near the small of her back suddenly and he was so close she was breathing in the aroma of his shampoo. It smelled of tropical fruit.

“Fitz!” she cried finally, letting the tools clatter to the tabletop as she dropped them. “I need you to just—stop hovering. I’ll get it taken care of.”

He looked surprised at her outburst, then he cast his eyes down slowly and turned to go back to his own workbench. 

She let out a large breath she hadn’t known she was holding, bringing a hand up to brush the hair back from her face. That—well, it could've gone better.

Ever since things had settled back to normal at the base, she assumed that with everything that had happened between them, Fitz would finally get up the courage to ask her out or kiss her or just— _something_. But instead he’d just gone back to how things had always been between them—perhaps taking comfort in the familiar. They seemed to get along with far less bickering than they ever had before and he wasn’t trying to pretend he wasn’t working out of the lab now, but things were still distant—at least, emotionally.

Physically, he was getting as close, or closer, than he ever had. He would bump into her at the holo-table or brush past her—often tantalizingly slowly. Sometimes, he would just walk behind her so closely that she could feel the disturbance of the air and catch his manly-sweet scent. His fingers seemed to linger over hers whenever he handed her something. It almost seemed as though he waited for her to come through doors so he might exit as she entered, forcing them to face one another and mutter apologies. Or he would sit next to her as they watched telly in the lounge, his thigh pressed flush against hers.

She tried to hold his hand once. They were sitting side by side on the sofa in the lounge, the lights dimmed for a film. She spotted his hand in the dimness, a pale silhouette against dark denim as it lay flat against his thigh. She slipped her palm over the smooth skin of the back of his hand, gently running her fingertips into the valleys of his knuckles and squeezing gently—but he just left it there. He didn’t turn his palm to hers or clasp it with his other hand as he had done only a few short weeks ago. No, he just let her hand sit lifelessly on top of his until she’d grown so uncomfortable she finally pulled it away. He’d glanced in her direction, but hadn’t said a thing.

She began to wonder if either he wasn’t interested any longer or—if he was punishing her. The thought occurred to her that he might feel she deserved a bit of a reprisal for the way things had happened between them. She certainly hoped it wasn’t the case, but nothing else made sense to her.

She snatched up the tiny tools and began to tinker with the drone again. If she hadn’t been so tetchy, the accident never would have happened. She was usually far too careful. If only she'd have been wearing gloves and using proper safety procedures, but she was frustrated, and it wasn’t long before her hand slipped. She managed to cut a shallow swath down her palm with the screwdriver.

“Ah! _Damnit_.”

Fitz was there in an instant as she held the injured hand to her chest.

“Let me see, Jemma.” He was holding his hand out, a stern look on his face as he waited for her to give it to him for examination.

She wanted to glare at him and wallow in self-pity over her cut. She already knew it wasn’t that deep, but it would require a plaster. She sighed and held it out to him.

Fitz shuddered slightly at the blood and then went to get the first aid kit. “Come here,” he demanded, turning a chair around to indicate she should sit in it.

She sat while Fitz knelt on the floor just beside her. He dabbed her cut with antiseptic and covered it with a plaster. Jemma watched but couldn’t really focus on anything because he was pressed closely against her thigh and she could feel his chest move in and out with every breath. She began a little daydream of his hands on her knees, sliding slowly upward, parting her legs to fit himself between them. Then his hands, with his lovely long fingers on her hips, then sliding up her arms and reaching up to pull her down into a kiss—

“There,” he said, letting her hand go as he peered up at her face. He was wearing a blue jumper today and his eyes looked aquamarine.

“Fitz—” she started. But she just couldn’t bring herself to say what she wanted. She was too afraid that he’d changed his mind. That he no longer wanted more than just their friendship. “Would you help me get the D.W.A.R.F. open?”

He nodded, getting up from his knees with a groan like an old man. She smiled to herself, charmed by his affectation, as she went back to her workstation. He replaced the first aid kit before meeting her to help open the drone.

“Look here, Jemma.” She was standing just beside him as he tried to show her how he would place the screwdriver in the catch.

She nodded absently. Despite her request, she didn’t really care at the moment, she was feeling a bit sad now and probably needed to take a break.

“Can I show you?” he asked, meeting her eyes pointedly.

She was about to decline and tell him that she should get them some tea when he dragged her closer by the lapel of her lab coat. She didn't resist because of the look in his eye. He lined them up in front of the work so he was behind her, shifting her into place with one hand on each side of her waist. He put the screwdriver in her uninjured hand and used his own to guide hers. He was pressing against her back, talking over her shoulder as he guided her hand with the tool. She couldn’t think as his breath tickled over the shell of her ear.

“See? Just like that,” he said, so close to her ear it was like he was inside her head. She could feel the tight grip he had on her hip with his other hand and she was having a difficult time thinking about anything but how good it felt for him to touch her. Her hips were nearly writhing, wanting to rock back into him and she pressed her lips tightly together to keep in the needy sounds that wanted to escape them.

She dropped the screwdriver and turned around suddenly. Fitz’s face became a comic mask of surprise as she stood pinned with the workbench at her back and his arms on either side of her.

“I, eh—I think I’ll get some tea,” she said, looking down. She pushed past his arm and started toward the kitchen.

She was just putting the kettle on when Skye came into the kitchen in her training gear taking a large gulp of water from a bottle in her hand. Her skin was glistening and hair that had come loose from her ponytail was clinging in wet clumps to her face and neck.

“Hey, Jemma,” she said with a tired half-wave as she sat down at the table.

“You look _exhausted_.” If she sounded overly sympathetic, it was only because she didn’t want Skye to think she was saying she looked unattractive.

Skye dropped her head into her hands and said, “I _am_! May is _killing_ me!”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m sure it’s better than my day though. I’ve just got cut fixing one of the D.W.A.R.F.s.” She held up her bandaged hand.

“Ew, is it really gruesome? Who fixed you up? Did you have to ask Hunter?” Skye was beginning to perk up slightly.

“Eh, no. Fitz did it for me.” She turned back to her tea. Dropping a bag into each cup and then staring at the kettle and willing it to boil.

“Jemma, I thought Fitz can’t stand the sight of blood! That’s sweet though—does that mean—I mean, did he…” Skye trailed off when Jemma didn’t continue immediately.

“Disinfect it?” Jemma tried, quirking a half-smile.

“I was thinking more like _kiss it better_ but, hey, whatever floats your boat. I don’t need to hear it.” She grinned and held her hands up in defense against further pretended TMI. “But, no, seriously, hasn’t he asked you out _yet_?” Seeming to think better of bringing up the subject without a joke she added, “I mean, it’s not exactly a _secret_ with you two. I’m not _blind_. I got the vibes. I picked up on the hints both of you were laying down for each other—and then just left laying there—on the ground—like a dead mouse. I mean, come on, you guys! Hurry up and kiss already! You _haven’t_ , have you?” She brought her clasped hands up under her chin in anticipation of an exciting kissing story.

Jemma’s shoulders had ridden up to ear-level and her face was hot and probably close to crimson. She turned slowly around to meet Skye’s expectant face. Her eyebrows were jumping up and down and her smile got incrementally bigger and then smaller again as she waited to know what expression would be appropriate from Jemma’s answer. Skye then leaned back against the dining table, supporting herself with her arms. She looked like she was getting comfortable for a lovely delicious gossip.

It was fairly obvious that there was no denying anything to Skye. She’d never believe her anyway. “No.” She sighed with disappointment. “Nothing like that—except—oh, I’m sure it’s nothing.” She turned back to her cups, lifting and rearranging the teabags unnecessarily.

“Come on, you can’t leave me hanging like that! Jeez, Jemma!” Skye called out irately, slamming her hand down on the edge of her chair.

Jemma turned back, looking up as she contemplated how to phrase it. “He keeps getting _very_ close. He’s just—I don't know—in my space, quite often.” She threw up her hands at how silly it all sounded compared to how Skye had characterized things especially now she was saying it out loud. She felt irrationally embarrassed somehow that things weren’t closer to the way Skye imagined. “It’s silly. It’s _nothing_.”

“That’s _not_ nothing,” Skye said matter-of-factly. “That’s the male come hither. He’s basically hitting on you…in a nerd-like fashion.” She pulled a bowl of old pretzels from the center of the table and popped one in her mouth. Chewing rapidly, she added, “No worries. I mean, he definitely wants to get up in your business. That much is _clear_.”

Jemma tried really hard not to smirk at Skye’s phrasing but she wasn’t so sure if it was accurate. “I don’t think so—he’s always been the one more inclined to—I mean, he’s always been more—” She searched for the word.

“Handsy?” Skye offered.

“No. I mean, in the sense that he doesn’t seem to have as clearly defined an area of personal space as I do, I suppose.”

“So—” Skye drew the word out. “He’s _always_ wanted to get up in your lady business, is what you’re saying? _Wow_ , that is a _lot_ of sexual tension there. That's gonna be a geek-splosion of hotness when you two get it together.”

“No, that's certainly not what I'm saying Skye—” Jemma looked around, making sure they were truly alone and wouldn’t be overheard. “I _don’t_ think that’s always been the case, no. But his lack of boundaries has, just recently, gotten a bit—well, worse isn’t really the word—”

“So, pretty much, he’s hot and bothered and he’s trying to get you feeling all horntastic so he doesn’t have to make the first move. _Simple_ , just get him back. Two can play _that_ game.” Skye popped another pretzel in her mouth and began to chew with a look of pride at her _simple_ plan.

Jemma couldn’t quite get her mouth to close at Skye’s interpretation of the situation. She wondered if it were worth it to try and correct her. “Eh, right. That should be—eh, _easy_.” She wasn’t quite sure what she was agreeing with but it seemed better to smile and nod now than to continue engaging in the mortifying conversation.

“Right. Of course it is. You’re Jemma Simmons, nubile young prodigy with an above average fashion sense. Who wouldn’t want some of that hot action? Go get him, tiger.” Skye winked and Jemma couldn’t tell if she was being serious or completely mocking her.

“Right.” She was given a reprieve from the troubling conversation by the kettle going off and making her jump.

She quickly poured water over the teabags, realizing she would have to wait another, potentially uncomfortable, four minutes.

“So, whaddya gonna do?” Skye asked, chewing again.

Jemma decided to play along. “I don’t know. What do _you_ think I should do?”

Skye shrugged. “Well, you know Fitz, what does _he_ like?”


	2. In Which Fitz Gets Hot and Bothered

Jemma thought about it for a moment and realized that—she had no idea. She only knew that, over the years, Fitz had been enamored of a number of women (Skye included) but she never really could pin down exactly what made them special other than their obvious beauty. She could remember nothing they had in common in any way.

And though she had guessed long before she knew for certain that he had dabbled with a lover or two of convenience as much as she had, there was only one she knew of for certain. She recalled an angry break up with a rather diminutive but exotically attractive brunette who had come into the lab to slam a key and a Doctor Who mug down on his desk with tears standing in her eyes. The mug had cracked and Fitz had tossed it rather unceremoniously into the bin. He’d seemed to be as unaffected by the whole incident as she usually was by her own similar scenes once things began to grow too serious for her liking. She also had a vague recollection of numerous dates that he’d gone on at the Academy as well, though the faces of his amours all tended to blend together in her mind. None had ever seemed to last long.

She really had no idea what Fitz liked in terms of a woman's appearance or even what personality traits he found particularly attractive. He’d said he was in love with _her_ but she still had no idea what it was about her that had made that happen. It was certainly nothing she’d _consciously_ done.

The whole line of thought only reinforced the idea that—though she knew Fitz as well as she thought she knew anyone—there was an entire side to him that she knew _nothing_ about. His desires, his fantasies, the things that would drive him wild with lust, if he had things he particularly enjoyed in bed. Did he enjoy slow lovemaking or rough sex? Was he repressed, only willing to stick with what he considered “normal” or was he sexually adventurous and into the more unusual? Would he want her to talk dirty? Did he like unusual positions? Or parts? She had no idea. But these thought made the blood begin to gather low in her belly and she felt a flutter of want begin to vex from below.

Jemma swallowed and shrugged back at Skye.

“Okay, general. I can do general turn-ons. Have you tried, hm, wearing a skirt? I mean, it’s not mandatory, it’s just that men are like dogs, they enjoy novelty—and legs. Also, you might want to change up your makeup a little. You’ve got some very cute nice-girl action going on there, but maybe change it up with some red lipstick and a bit more mascara or something. Just a hint of bad-girl Jemma to inspire him.”

She eyed Jemma appraisingly. “Um, there’s always the black-bra, white-shirt gag but something tells me you wouldn’t be a fan. You could modify that with just—you know, lacy bra, oops-missed-a-button? That’d probably be enough to give the poor guy a heart attack if you hit him with all that at once. But, you know, try not to kill the li’l dork. We might need him for something sciencey. Though if you ride him to death, I might have to give you a pass.” Skye smiled beatifically before popping another stale pretzel into her mouth.

She didn’t quite know what to say to all that but managed, “Oh, eh, yes—of course.” Jemma’s eyes were a bit wide in shock at Skye’s apparent off-the-cuff list of seduction techniques and advice.

In a daze of too many things to think about, she took the tea bags out of the cups and finished preparing the tea. Immediately heading for the lab. She called over her shoulder: “Thanks for the, eh—tips, Skye.”

“No problem. And I expect a full report!” Skye called back to her, a bit too loudly for her taste.

When Jemma put the tea down on Fitz’s desk he barely grumped out a thank you. He was again hard at work and now actively ignoring her. She went back to her own work on the D.W.A.R.F. until it was finally time to leave.

“Night, Fitz,” she said as she shrugged out of her lab coat, midway to the door. She hung it on a hook and turned to look back at him when she heard no reply.

He was just staring at her dazedly, his lips parted but with no sound coming out. Finally, he shook his head and said, “Night, Jemma.”

The next morning, after her jog and shower, she was looking through her closet and decided on a pale pink blouse that she hadn’t worn in ages. It was professional—unless she missed the top _two_ buttons. She chose some matching lacy pink underthings and also found a just-above-the-knee pencil skirt that she hadn’t worn since her last meeting of the board at Sci-Ops. It was slim, fitted to her hips, and she knew they swayed pleasingly when she walked. To complete the outfit she dug a pair of heels from the bottom of her closet. The soles were hot pink. She didn’t know why exactly, but that little glimpse of color somehow made her feel sexy.

She meticulously applied her makeup. She took extra care with her lashes as Skye had suggested. First curling and then painting them thoroughly, instead of the slapdash couple of strokes she usually did. At the bottom of her makeup bag, she found a tube of red lipstick that she thought she might have used for a Halloween costume one year. She slowly coated her lips making sure there was a very crisp line.

She looked at the final product in the mirror and sucked in a sudden breath. She was quite afraid that if Fitz didn’t respond to this effort, it meant he had given up on anything more between them. They would be "just friends" forever. She wasn’t sure how she felt about it. One or two months ago that would have been enough for her, but now she wasn’t sure. She used one finger to straighten the edge of her lipstick and admitted to her reflection that she wanted more. She wanted him in every way. Her red lips trembled at the thought that he may no longer want _her_.

She went first to the kitchen for tea. Skye was sitting at the table with her laptop, slurping at a cup of coffee and munching on a bagel. She turned to look at Jemma as she walked in and said, “Holy shit, Jemma Simmons! You’ve got bona fide porn makeup goin’ on there. Poor guy’s gonna think he stepped into a scene from _Jemma Does Fitz_. Bow chicka _friggin_ ’ wow wow.” Skye started to rock in her seat as she serenaded her with exaggerated porno music vocalizations and taking on a deep, faux-male voice said, “Hello, ma’am, I’m here to fix your microscope.” Switching to a falsetto drawl, she added, “Who needs a microscope with your giant—“

“I get the point!” Jemma cried, fluttering her hands frantically through the air in a keep-it-down gesture, just trying to get Skye to be quiet so no one would overhear. She looked around suspiciously. After all, this was a public space for Heaven’s sake!

“You guys are going to have to blackout the windows in the lab because I can _not_ walk past and see that." Skye took a sip of her coffee and shook her head slowly, her nose slightly crinkled in vague distaste. "That is something you just can’t ever un-see, you know? Are those—Are you wearing fuck-me pumps? What the friggin' heck!? I told you not to kill him! He might pass out and hit his head and he _really_ does _not_ need any more head injuries. God _damn_ , Jemma, you went all out.” She affected an expression of mock-sadness, wiping a pretend tear from her eye and sniffling for effect. “I’m feeling really— _proud_ right now. I taught a genius a new trick. Yay, me!” She pumped her fists in the air and began to chuckle.

Jemma’s face was nearly as red as her lipstick and she wasn’t sure what to say in response. She headed toward the kettle but found that there was already a pot of tea that was still warm and ready. Fitz’s efforts she had no doubt. She poured two cups, adding sugar to one and milk to the other.

“I’ll see how it goes,” she finally said noncommittally as Skye continued to stare at her back expectantly. Walking quickly to escape Skye’s barrage of unsubtle comments, balancing the two cups carefully so as not to spill any on her specially prepared (oops-I-missed- _two_ -buttons) shirt, she went toward the door.

“If it doesn’t go well, I’m going to have to think that Fitz might be gay—or an idiot. I’m not sure, possibly _both_.” Skye sat up curling one leg beneath her and added, “Hell, you’re making me wish _I_ was gay. But, y'know, I still hope he’s not gay.” She gave her a double thumbs up and an encouraging grin. Her voice went up an octave as she called, “Good luck!”

Jemma looked at her, eyes and nose squinched up quizzically as she shook her head and walked out of the kitchen to head for the lab. Gingerly holding the cups of tea away from her clothing, she pushed in through the doors backwards. When she turned, she saw Fitz already at his desk, tinkering with the drone from yesterday. He had a small screwdriver held between his lips as he prodded inside with a soldering iron.

She set the fresh cup of sugary tea on his desk, bending down slightly so her cleavage was somewhere around eye-level. Fitz turned, looking first at the tea and then up to thank her but he never made it quite that far. His eyes locked on the lacy pink bra that he was getting a bird’s eye view of and the screwdriver he held between his lips dropped to the floor with a _plink_ as his jaw went slack.

“Oh, let me get that,” Jemma said, already feeling a bit guilty. As she stood with the screwdriver held out to him, she saw his eyes were still locked on the gape in her shirt. It must have been the power of suggestion but she looked down herself and realized that the game was up when he cleared his throat loudly and plucked the screwdriver from her fingers. “Oh, look at that,” she said a bit theatrically. “I’ve missed a button. Ha-ha.” She quickly buttoned the bottom-most button but left the next one undone. It was somewhat less provocative but better than nothing.

Fitz said nothing, just took a large drink of tea with his eyes a bit glazed.

She sighed and went to put on her lab coat. There was actual work to be done and she set about it until sometime later when Fitz asked her if she might be able to help him test Bashful.

She held the spectrographic scanner in front of the D.W.A.R.F. as Fitz controlled it with his tablet. “I’ll set it on automatic and we can see if he finds it.”

She nodded and watched as the drone immediately found the device he’d been set to look for. Jemma grinned and said, “Good _boy_.”

Fitz looked at her suddenly and she couldn’t help but chuckle. “Oh, I meant Bashful.” Fitz smiled slightly, looking a bit embarrassed. “Though you did a wonderful job fixing him, Fitz.” She licked her lips and smiled, watching as he subconsciously imitated her, licking his own lips as he smiled back.

She wondered if this attempt at seduction wasn’t backfiring as she gazed at his moistened lips. She so wanted to know the silky glide of his tongue over hers and learn the exact shape of those lips as she traced over them with hers. Jemma felt a flicker of heat as blood and desire surged downward and she clenched her thighs against the hollowness that longed to be filled.

“Thanks.” Fitz’s cheeks were rosy as he smiled shyly at his feet. His expression was actually the epitome of the drone’s name. “I just need to put the panel back on, I suppose.”

He started to fuss with the panel and Jemma remembered the impromptu teaching session of the day before. She decided that she wanted to provoke an undeniable reaction if indeed there was such a thing. He couldn't deny it if he kissed her, could he?

“Can you show me, Fitz?” She tried to sound merely interested, but the heat between her legs seemed to have given her a sex-kittenish lilt.

“Ehm, yeah?” Fitz sounded unsure but he quickly moved behind her, giving her the tools he’d been working with as he showed her with his hands over her wrists what to do.

This was _not_ something they had _ever_ really done before. Jemma was perfectly capable of learning new things without Fitz showing her like a child but the feel of his body against her was making her skin grow pleasantly warm. She told herself that this was just foreplay, an unspoken game. It made her feel better as she enjoyed his heat all along her back, his hips pressed more closely against her than ever before. She heard the whisper of his lab coat as he moved behind her and she could smell his morning-clean scent. She held back a little gasp that tried to escape at the feel of him along her body.

She suddenly dropped the tiny screwdriver and ran her hand over her throat and down to her décolleté, brushing off the slight bit of moisture that was beginning to collect there. Fitz hadn’t bothered to remove his grip on her wrist and he was mirroring her movements as she slowly sunk her fingers down into the opening of her blouse. Fitz sucked in a heavy breath near her ear and suddenly she could feel him growing hard as he pressed against her backside. He dropped her wrists immediately and backed away, pulling his lab coat closed before him with crisp flap.

“Fitz…” she started, reaching out, but he turned and rushed out of the lab before she could say more. _“Bloody hell.”_

She left as well, unable to bear the emptiness of the lab. And, rather than aimlessly wander, she went to the kitchen, seeking some sort of purpose. She was almost hoping Skye would be there to tell her how to proceed, but it was empty and so she just made fresh tea. She felt lonely, unhappy and wondered if she might have just thoughtlessly spoiled things again. Dumping extra sugar in Fitz's tea, she buttoned her blouse up to her throat and carried the two new mugs back to the lab. She hoped that Fitz would be back. She decided that, this time, they would really have to communicate for a change. It really was getting a bit ridiculous.

But when she got there, Fitz was sitting at his desk with his head in his hands.

“Fitz?” she asked, concerned as she set down the cups of tea. “What’s wrong?” She put a hand on his back and when he looked up his expression wasn’t sad or upset as she’d expected but determined with his jaw set and his brows pulled tight together.

“Jemma? Would you—like to, ehm—" he started to look less certain suddenly but if he was going where she thought he was, she definitely wanted him to continue.

“Yes?” she said, smiling encouragingly.

He sucked in a deep breath. “Go on a date—with me?”

That wasn’t quite what she’d thought he was going to say for some reason but it would _certainly_ do. “Yes, Fitz. I would. _Very_ much.”

“Really?” An uncertain smile pulled at the corners of his lips, the look of determination dropped away and was replaced by one of delighted surprise as his eyes widened and his brows flew upward.

“Yes, of course I would. When?”

“Tonight? Seven o’clock?” he asked hopefully as his hand went to hers and he gripped her fingers gently.

“Alright,” she said, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. “Where? Just—just so I’ll know what to wear.” She smiled self-consciously and wondered what Fitz’s idea of a nice date would be.

“Ehm, dinner? And we could go—stargazing?” They hadn’t gone stargazing together since the Academy. He brought his thumb up to run across his bottom lip and she sighed in anticipation of the kiss she had waited on for what seemed _such_ a long time.

Dinner and stargazing was really two clothing choices, but she just nodded. “Seven, then. We can meet in the lounge?”

He was still grinning as he nodded enthusiastically. As far as she knew, the smile didn’t leave his face all day.

At five-thirty, she headed out of the lab, smiling and waving at Fitz as she playfully called to him, “I’ll see you in a bit.”


	3. In Which Dating is Hard...er, Difficult

She showered, being certain to shave her legs to smooth perfection (just in case) and put on the floral perfume she was fairly certain Fitz preferred. She curled her hair and wore the red lipstick again. It _had_ made her feel very sexy. In the back of her closet, with all the other things she never wore, she had a red dress. It was stuck between a little black dress with an adventurous back and a green one that was too low-cut. (Well, for the _first_ date, anyway. She didn’t want to look like a slapper, after all.)

The thin fabric of the red dress wasn’t the warmest thing but it was nearly summer and she thought it looked quite good. It wasn’t overly provocative while still being form-fitting and just a bit sexy. She thought it would do nicely. She put on lacy black underthings (just in case) and a pair of strappy heels that she figured would make her tall enough to kiss him comfortably without having to stand on her toes. (The kissing had better be a given at this stage!)

She put some trainers and a mid-weight jacket into an oversized purse along with her wallet and some makeup for touchups. She slung the bag over her shoulder. _There_ , she thought. That should be everything she needed for a dinner-and-stargazing-first-date-adventure with her best friend in the world— _and more than that_. Well, she hoped it was all she’d need, anyway.

Then she remembered one more thing she actually might need (well, _probably_ not, but just in case). She went to her dresser, tearing into the box of condoms she’d _very_ surreptitiously gotten on the last supply run and pulled out a handful. She shrugged at seeing four and stuffed them into an inside pocket of her bag. No one could say she came unprepared.

Fitz was waiting for her in the lounge and she left her bag just outside the door so as not to spoil her entrance. Fitz was wearing…exactly what he’d been wearing in the lab with a light jacket thrown over. She tried not to feel hurt by his lack of effort but it stung a little after all she’d done to look nice.

He was faced away at the kitchen counter when she entered. He seemed to have a picnic hamper. When he turned, his jaw went slack at the sight of her and it made her feel a little better that she’d put in so much effort.

“Jemma, you look beautiful,” he said, his eyes wide and filled with wonder. He quickly shook his head and cleared his throat. “I mean, tha’s a _very_ nice dress.”

She went from a flush of happiness to confusion at his self-correction. Did he not want her to _know_ he thought she was beautiful? Or did he actually _not_ think she was beautiful? Well, clearly he _did_ but—or did he think she didn’t want to _hear_ that she was beautiful? _What the hell_?

She cast her eyes down to the floor. “Thank you.” It came out subdued but she wasn’t really certain what else to say.

He hoisted the hamper onto his arm and said, “Are you, ehm—ready?” She nodded. 

She picked up her bag on the way out. They rode the elevator down to the hangar in silence. He had apparently already requisitioned one of the dark, nondescript SUVs for their use and parked it close to the elevator. He opened the door of the vehicle for her and she slid in, stowing the bag at her feet.

As they set off for wherever Fitz had decided to take them, she began to feel nervous. She’d thought perhaps they’d eat out at a restaurant giving her a bit of a reprieve before things got more intimate. But it appeared that he had packed their dinner to go.

“Tha' polymer I’ve been working on for the new ICERS is really quite tricky, you know,” Fitz blurted nervously. His fingers were tapping restlessly on the steering wheel. “Funny thing—“

“Fitz,” she interrupted him. “I—would it be alright if we didn’t speak about work? This is—well, would that be alright?”

“Yeah, course,” he said instantly, shaking his head slightly as if chastising himself. But his eyes had gone wide and a little panicky and she realized too late she was taking away his security blanket. Discussing science was what they’d had between them the longest. It was known…it was safe. On the other hand, if she just let him prattle on about work they’d probably never move forward. She sighed, feeling guilty, but also thinking she’d made the right choice.

“It’s just—I’d rather chat about— _us_.” She said it quietly but she also tried to keep the tone of her words light. Worried now, not only about hurting his feelings, but also of frightening him with a level of seriousness that they might not be ready for as yet. However, she didn’t want him to think that he was doing anything wrong.

“No, course,” he said. “I’d likely just haver on about work the whole night. You’re right.” He said it somewhat animatedly but she heard the worry and maybe even hurt in his voice.

Silence reigned for a few minutes. This was much more difficult than a normal first date where you didn’t know anything about the other person so there were plenty of questions to ask. She knew almost everything about Fitz. Without the safety of work-related topics, there were practically no questions left _to_ ask. She couldn’t very well ask him what his favorite sexual position was.

“I haven’t heard you say that in ages,” she said suddenly. It was the first thing her mind grasped onto. “Not since the Academy.”

“Hmm?” He kept his eyes on the road and she noticed his fingers were still drumming rather vigorously.

“Haver.” She chuckled lightly at the idea of his speech becoming more Americanized. Though she knew it was happening to her as well—in word choice if not actual pronunciation.

“Yeah?” he asked, seeming to ponder. “Am I losin' my accent?”

She smiled fondly at him in the dim light cast on them by the dashboard instruments. “No, I should say not.”

The silence stretched out again as she cast about in her mind for something to say.

“Em, how’s your mum, Fitz?” she asked, finally alighting on a subject that was both safe and personal.

“Oh—great,” he said, not even glancing in her direction. “I mean, she had a bit of a cold, I suppose, but she’s doin’ fine now.”

She nodded sympathetically. “Good. That’s good to hear.” _Fantastic. Now what?_

“A–and—your mum and dad?” he asked suddenly. He sounded near desperate for something to say.

“Oh, they’re fine, too.” She bit her lip, trying to think of anything that she might be able to tell him about her family. “Eh, my cousin—she had another baby.” She tossed out finally. She felt like they were playing conversational hot potato in a way. Whoever spoke last would be safe and it was left to the other to come up with the next topic.

“Oh, right. Your cousin...Eliza?” he prompted.

“Eh, no. Emily.” This was getting ridiculous. Really. “I’m glad you asked me to come out, Fitz.” She tried to let some of the emotion she felt come through in her words.

He smiled wanly but said nothing in response. Evidently still left with the potato, she gnawed at her lip and tried to think of something else to say.

As he pulled off to the side of the road he said: “Here we are.” It came out almost in a sort of a sing-song and it reminded her of how he'd been before— _everything_. She hadn't been sure if the change was his injury or just his general unhappiness. Somehow his unexpectedly upbeat tone made her sad. She hated that he'd been so miserable. But it also gave her some hope. She thought if they could just get past this awkward stage perhaps he could finally be happy. The two of them, happy together.

She looked out the window, the place didn’t look like much of anything. It was a bit of a field. “We’re going through the field?” she asked, hesitantly. He nodded and turned off the ignition. She quickly pulled the trainers out of her bag and began to put them on.

“You came prepared,” he said. Though she could no longer see his face well with the car turned off, she could hear the smile in his words.

“I always come prepared, Fitz,” she said with just a touch of exasperation as she tied her other trainer.

“I know,” he said and got out of the car. She pulled her jacket on and then Fitz was there, opening the door. He pulled the hamper of food out of the back along with another bag. She debated whether to bring her now _nearly_ empty bag and decided against it. _That_ remote possibility seemed somehow even more remote after their uncomfortable conversation. She got out of the car and allowed herself to be led out into the field.

She quickly realized why he’d chosen the spot. There was nothing much for quite a ways around them and, though the field was fairly flat, there was a steep incline toward the middle. It was probably about as ideal for stargazing as it was possible to find this near to the base.

Fitz spread out a blanket for them to sit on and then opened the second bag. As she suspected, it was his old telescope. She hadn’t even known he still had it. She’d seen no sign of it since they’d been at the Academy. He set it up quite quickly and when he had it properly aligned, he motioned her over to it.

“You can see Venus and Jupiter—together,” he said, motioning to the eyepiece. “It’s the closest they’ve come in nearly twenty years.”

She scooted from her position at the edge of the blanket and peered into the telescope. Both planets had a dull milky glow in the telescope lens and they were indeed very close together. It almost looked like they would touch.

That’s when she felt Fitz’s hand at her waist. It was loose, just barely there but the heat of his fingers was burning through the thin fabric of her dress. She inhaled a small, sharp breath into her lungs and pressed her lips together.

She wondered if he would kiss her now, if he’d created this scenario so that he could have her to himself, just the two of them under the stars. He could so easily pull her close and fit his lips to hers in their first real romantic kiss. She slid her tongue over her own lips at the thought. His hand was gripping her hip gently now and her stomach did a little flip-flop in anticipation of what he would do. He slowly squeezed again and the tingling swell it created between her legs nearly made her gasp. Her breath began to come a little faster, she let out a little involuntary hum and it startled her.

Straightening at the waist suddenly, she pulled away from the telescope and as she moved, he dropped his hand.

Aching with disappointment, she cast around for the thread of the conversation. “Eh, yes—they _are_ very close,” she said weakly.

Fitz looked hurt. Like he’d been rejected. But the truth was that she was more excited by his attention than she thought she should be, considering it was not particularly heated. At least, on _his_ side. She, on the other hand, felt like she was going to melt. Her skin was hot and flushed and she felt sweat beginning to gather along her spine.

“Maybe we should, ehm, _eat_ ,” Fitz said without meeting her eyes.

Feeling guilty at apparently making him feel badly again, she nodded. “Yes, alright.”

Fitz began to unpack the hamper. It had salad, finger sandwiches, cheese, fruit and wine. He held the bottle hesitantly and said, “I, ehm, if you want. I also brought tea.” He pulled a thermos from the hamper as well.

She was about to say that she would have tea, but then pressing her lips together, said, “Wine, please.”

He looked slightly hopeful as he opened the bottle and handed her a glass. It was actually not bad. She wasn’t sure what kind it was. It seemed to be a sweet white wine that she’d never tasted the like of before.

Fitz got out a plate and began to put food on it as she gestured toward the hamper. “Did you make all this?” She hadn’t meant to sound so skeptical but it did come off that way…a bit.

He smirked and said, “Yes, Jemma. I _can_ make food on occasion.”

“No, I–I didn’t mean it like _that_. I just—you—” She shook her head, not sure what she was saying exactly. She was flattered, perhaps?

He handed her a plate with a bit of salad and a sandwich. His hand shook a bit as he passed her a fork and she wasn’t sure if it was just nerves or his bad hand acting up. “Thank you.”

She took a bite of the salad and it was quite good as was the sandwich which she was pleasantly surprised turned out to be some sort of spiced chicken. She drank the wine a bit too quickly and it went straight to her head, making her feel unpleasantly light-headed. Fitz looked a bit dismayed when she refused a second glass but made no comment. He just handed her a cup of tea instead.

She was so nervous that she couldn't really eat much. She felt badly about the effort he’d made, but it was better than becoming ill for their date. Fitz packed the majority of the food and the dishes back into the hamper and when he was finished, he looked like he had no idea what to do.

He looked up at the sky finally (she assumed for a distraction). He was sitting on his heels with his palms flat on the tops of his thighs. She just watched him as he looked up into the lustrous blackness with its gleaming specs of eternity. Glancing up at the stars, planets and galaxies above, she decided that this should be the point in space and time in which he kissed her—or as close to it as she could finagle.

She unzipped her jacket and shrugged it off, leaning back on her hands with her legs stretched out long before her. She saw Fitz dart a glance at her at the sound of the zip but he didn’t look at her fully. Her dress was ridden up above her knees and she didn’t bother to fix it. She pulled her shoulders back and looked up.

After a moment, he said, “Did you want to look through the telescope again? A con–conjunction like this doesn’t happen very often.”

He still wasn’t looking at her. His eyes seemed transfixed on the tiny pinpricks of light above. She was actually hoping for a bit of a different conjunction. “Yes,” she said. “Would you—help me?”

He _did_ look then. His eyes were wide and a little scared. He knew she was perfectly capable of working the telescope herself. Astronomy had never been one of her great loves, preferring the finer mysteries of life to be found in the eye of a microscope, but Fitz had always enjoyed it. They’d stargazed many times at the Academy.

“Yeah, course,” he said, getting up. He held his hand out to her, she took it and let him lead her to the telescope.

She knelt in front of it and he was right behind her. In her personal space but still not quite touching her. She felt like she couldn’t get a good breath into her lungs as she looked into the eyepiece. She was waiting for him to lay his hands on her again, but, so far, nothing.

“They’re very _close_ ,” she said trying to add a little lilt to her voice.

“Mm-hmm,” Fitz agreed.

She felt the heat of his body so close to her, nearly right against her back, it was incredible and also so… _not enough_. She let herself sway slightly, as if by accident, just bumping into his chest and he caught her by the waist again. His hand was loose, relaxed, as it rested just on the jut of her hip. She swayed again and his grip tightened perceptibly, curling around the front to dig his fingers in just the tiniest bit. She breathed out hard through her nose. Swaying back against him again, he finally put his other hand on the other side of her waist.

The barely discernible increments were maddening to her. She finally gave in, and said, “I’m a bit cold, Fitz.”

“Oh,” he said in surprise. “Would you like your jacket?”

Pointedly not looking up from the telescope, she said, “No.”

She hoped he would just wrap his arms around her then, but, instead, he said, “Do you—should I—” His bashful hesitation would have been adorable if she weren’t burning up inside.

“Yes,” she said, it came out breathless.

He slipped his arms around her then. Just barely hugging her back to his front. His body heat was delicious but it wasn’t all she wanted. She brought her hands down to slip over his as they lay flat against her ribs. She stroked across them, caressing the backs of his hands sensually, even as she tried to keep up the pretense of looking through the telescope. He didn’t move though.

She only had one move left.

She reached back with one hand and let the tips of her fingers slip into his close-cropped curls. She pushed them through, just grazing his scalp, until her fingers curled around the back of his head. She began to slowly bring his head forward. He breathed out in something like a sigh or perhaps a muffled whine. She was hoping he would either bring his head forward all the way to kiss her neck (which would be a start) or turn her and kiss her properly. She was rooting for the latter.

In the end, neither happened. In her efforts to get Fitz to kiss her, she so lost track of the fact that the telescope was right in front of her, that she actually did sway on her knees, right _into_ the bloody telescope. It had a decent lens, but the legs were a bit wobbly from many years of use. The whole thing began to topple to the side. She reached out for it at the same time as Fitz, and they both managed to somehow keep it upright. However, the moment was completely lost.

He tried to stabilize the legs again, but on the uneven ground, he never could get it stable enough to stay securely upright again. So in the end, he finally elected to put it away and, without their pretense, it seemed there was no reason for them to stay out in the empty field. Jemma folded up the blanket and put it in the hamper and Fitz insisted on toting everything back to the SUV. He opened the car door for her and soon, they were headed back to the base in a cloud of uncomfortable silence.

“I was wondering—“

“Would you like—“

They both started at once. Uneasy chuckles from both of them filled the small space and the tension was somewhat broken.

“You go first,” she said.

“Ehm—I was just—I was goin' to ask you if you'd like to do this again.” His eyes were locked fiercely on the road as if he were certain she was about to refuse.

“Of course, Fitz. Of course I would.” She tried to swallow down the guilt she felt, knowing that she’d hurt him so much. His trust in her was—so _damaged_. She blinked back tears and sighed.

“What were you…” Fitz prompted, rolling his fingers through the air in a _please-continue_ gesture. She watched his hand go back to the steering wheel in the dim glow and wished that she were allowed to take it, to hold it in hers, so he might know how much she loved him.

“Oh, it’s nothing. I was just wondering if—no, it’s nothing.” She found herself unable to tell him that she’d been about to ask the same question of him and try as she might no other questions were coming to mind to cover it up. He didn’t press though.

To fill the emptiness that settled between them again, she took off her trainers and put her heels back on. They _would_ make her the perfect height. She wasn't certain if it would be necessary at this stage, but she would rather be prepared than not. Truthfully, she was growing a bit discouraged, wondering if he would get up the nerve to kiss her before the evening was over. She consoled herself with the knowledge that they'd already agreed to go out again so at least there would be another chance.

Soon they were pulling back into the hangar. Forgetting to let him open the door, she started to get out, only to have him scramble over and offer her his hand. She smiled at the sweetness of the gesture and soon their fingers were entwined as he walked her back to her bunk. She couldn’t make her lips stop smiling as she gripped his warm fingers and felt the smoothness of his palm flat against her own. As soon as she realized he really intended to take her all the way back to her room, a thrill of excitement went through her. At the door was the commonly accepted time to offer a kiss. Surely Fitz would accede to _that_ social convention.

Once they were finally there, she nervously fumbled with the keypad trying to prepare herself. When she turned around to face him, he looked very nervous indeed and even a bit discouraged. She took a delicate step forward and he took another toward her, but when they met in the middle, both their lips were tense and immovable. Fitz slipped his hands around her waist to the small of her back and she slid hers up on his shoulders. It was a classic pose. Yet, somehow, it had none of the magic that she’d been expecting. It was chaste and dry, lacking in any of the passion that she would have hoped for after he’d waited so long. Finally, he pulled back, his expression rather mortified. He seemed to be gritting his teeth, as if expecting her to chastise him.

She wanted to suggest that perhaps they should try again. But he stepped back quickly, his eyes to the floor, and said, “I’m sorry. Goodnight.”

She took in a breath to ask him to wait, but he was already walking hurriedly away.

 _Dammit._ Nothing was working out as she’d hoped. She blinked back tears again and turned to go inside her lonely room.


	4. In Which Fitz is Clueless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really have a hard time writing anything without a little angst but I get in Fitz's POV and suddenly it's _all about_ the angst. I apologize in advance. Don't worry, they _do_ work it all out in the smut— _ahem_ —I mean, the end.

Fitz was walking as fast as he could without actually breaking into a run. He was desperately trying to get some distance on the humiliation of a pathetic end to a terrible evening. Things were just _not_ working out as planned. At first, things had been looking incredible for his date with Jemma. She was wearing a bloody _dress_ for heaven’s sake. How often did that even happen? She just looked so beautiful, he’d gotten excited and just blurted it out. But he didn’t want to come on too strong. He was actually terrified of scaring her away now that she’d finally agreed to something beyond—what exactly? He wasn't sure what to call it. Just, beyond what they already had, he supposed. He wasn’t even quite sure what to hope it might become.

A long time ago, Jemma had told him that she didn’t believe she would ever marry. She'd said she couldn’t imagine the man who would make her want to give up anything that she wanted out of life. He supposed the best he could hope for was to be her— _boyfriend_? He really never could fairly be termed anyone's _boyfriend_ before, surely that was enough. As long as it was with her, did it even matter?

He’d been so anxious at finally getting a go at wooing the woman of his dreams that he might've gone a bit overboard trying to be romantic. He wasn’t very good with words now—not that he’d ever been _that_ great at romance before—but he really thought that Jupiter and Venus in conjunction was sort of a metaphor for their relationship. They would be far apart sometimes but then they always came back together again so closely. But as he showed it to her, he just couldn't find the words to explain it. Then he’d tried touching her, but her reaction had been so jumpy he was afraid to try it again.

Until she finally seemed to be asking him to. Then, faced with the prospect of Jemma in his arms he sort of—froze up. He’d been yearning for her so long he was afraid to let any of that emotion out. He didn’t want to frighten her, after all. The last thing he wanted was for her to think he was pressuring her to do things she wasn’t ready for. So, he held back and kept himself closely in check.

Then they nearly knocked over his poor old telescope. Though he would have gladly let it fall if only he thought Jemma was asking for what it seemed like maybe she was asking for. There really was nothing he wanted more than to kiss Jemma Simmons under the stars. Well, that was maybe not quite _entirely_ true but second to doing _that_ under the stars, he really would’ve liked to have kissed her. But he hadn’t been certain and it was the perfect excuse to force himself to calm down again. Unfortunately, it inadvertently put an end to the evening. By then, he was ready to smash the damned telescope himself for not cooperating.

Then at her door, she looked up at him with her eyes so full of feeling as she took a step toward him and he immediately froze up—again. He dreaded even the possibility of daunting her with all the pent up desire that he'd built up for her. If he showed her how much he wanted her so soon, she would almost certainly feel like he was pressing her for more. That was the last thing he wanted. If anything, he wanted her to feel the same way he did, once it got to that stage.

One of his greatest fears was that she felt like she was somehow—settling for him. Or obligated to him in some way—because of his brain, or their friendship, or some other mixed up reasoning. He knew she didn’t want them to be apart and he also knew Jemma. Somewhere in the back of that head of hers, she might think this was the way, even if it wasn’t how she really felt. There was no way he could abide that. He only wanted this if she really wanted him, unreservedly. And her hesitance had him very alarmed. The thought of Jemma letting him touch her, kiss her—and more—yet really not wanting any of it was enough to make him want to vomit.

He was also worried by the thought that maybe she was just sort of trying it out, seeing how it went, and hoping that more of an attraction might kick in. Because maybe she just couldn’t bring herself to _be_ attracted to him? That would make sense, considering the other men she’d dated.

He just had to force himself to wait until he was certain that she really wanted to be together. Because he still felt that something wasn’t quite right. He just hoped it was the place or the time or him saying the wrong silly thing and not—well, being unable to feel anything but friendship for him. Still, admitting that would be better than if she pretended. He would never want that, not for either of them. Right now, he had no choice but to believe that she truly was interested unless something happened to tip the balance. So far, it was all explainable. He chalked most of it up to how laughably nervous they both were.

* * *

 

“What, ehm…did you want to do tonight?” Fitz asked her the next day. He was trying to keep his eyes on Sneezy, poor little guy was having trouble.

Jemma was still wearing that new red lipstick. He didn’t know why she’d made the change but it was doing amazing things for his fantasy life and terrible things for his self-control. She’d worn a skirt yesterday as well and he didn’t think he’d ever forget that pink blouse—or what was under it. She’d bent down to give him his tea and he’d gotten a full-on look straight down to her navel. The bra she’d been wearing was frilly and with her bent down, the tops of her breasts had spilled over the top of it. He’d barely been able to form a coherent thought. His mouth had gone completely dry and he’d had to take a gulp of his tea to get his tongue unstuck from the roof of his mouth. It was like she was trying to bloody well _kill_ him. He couldn’t believe _that_ though. She wouldn’t try to _intentionally—_ would she?

Then she’d asked him to show her how to get Bashful back together. _That_ had seemed unusual, then she’d begun to…touch herself. He’d been embarrassed by his reaction but, on the other hand, how could she really blame him? Slipping her fingers down— _there_? He really had been _trying_ to be professional and keep his distance until she showed some sign that she was ready.

The hand-holding of a few weeks back and the fact that she’d written “love, Jemma” on his sandwich were _fairly_ obvious (though hardly conclusive) signs of her interest. But once things had gotten back to normal and they might actually do something about this unspoken thing between them—just nothing. He began to think he’d misinterpreted when he saw no further signs at all from her.

Well, except the time she’d held his hand on film night. But he’d been a bit paralyzed with fear. The gesture had been even warmer, somehow, than the previous time. He just hadn’t quite known what to do. He'd also felt a bit exposed, with everyone all around them. _They_ hadn’t figured out where they stood yet, he certainly didn’t think they needed everyone else on the base— _speculating_. It had been on the tip of his tongue to speak to her about it afterward but he’d copped out in the end. Instead, opting to just wait for another sign from her.

Yesterday had seemed like a sign. He decided that perhaps she’d been _trying_ to get him to respond. It was really the fact that she’d asked for help with Bashful. Jemma hated not knowing something simple and would most often look something up before resorting to asking him, even if she was _certain_ he knew. It really was completely unlike her.

It had finally motivated him to do it—just bloody well ask her out. Get it out there, once and for all. He honestly hadn’t been sure what she was going to say. He thought it equally likely that she would agree or turn him down flat. Perhaps citing how they were getting along so well as a reason not to tip the scale. He’d been prepared for either—well, _prepared_ was a strong word—he’d _accepted the possibility_ of either.

Then the fiasco last night. And yet somehow he’d gotten up the courage to ask her again. It was just fortunate that he’d asked before the horrid excuse for a kiss had happened or he’d likely never have asked her ever again.

He was trying to get the top panel open on Sneezy and Jemma just seemed to keep getting in his way. It finally came off with a pop because he was distracted by her closeness and he’d used too much force. His face colored slightly at how fiercely he’d been chastising her for the same thing just two days before.

“Oh, I don’t know, really,” she answered as she tried to manually calibrate Sneezy’s chemical sensors with a piece of chicken from his sandwich. “Come on. Come on, boy.” She called the D.W.A.R.F. as she shook the floppy piece of meat. Sneezy gave a weak whir but didn’t move. Jemma smirked.  

“What’s tha’ for?” he asked curiously, hoping her smirk wasn’t about him.

“Nothing,” she said, her face serious again as she cut in front of him to see if Sneezy would sniff from a different angle apparently. “Maybe—eh, we should just have a night in? We could watch Doctor Who?”

 _That_ was a bit out of the blue. They hadn’t done that—well, he couldn’t even remember the last time. It had once been a regular activity between them, but certainly not one that he would ever have considered a _date_. “For a—well, okay. Ehm, I don’t know if Mack’ll be too happy abou’ the Xbox but—“

Jemma laughed. “I meant we could watch it in my bunk—if you want.” She glanced at him shyly from the corner of her eye.

“Ehm, yeah, I suppose.” _Shite_. He hadn’t meant to sound so hesitant. It was okay if she invited him. He wasn’t pushing. _This was good_. “Yeah, what time?”

“Em, six? That’s not too early, is it? I should have his sensor repairs complete by five…” She let her words hang in the air, waiting for his response.

“Yeah, tha’s fine. I, ehm—I think tha's fine.” He quickly went back to tinkering with Sneezy’s innards, not wanting her to see his eagerness.

He realized he was pressed rather close to Jemma as she tried to reach the drone’s surface sensors while he was soldering inside. Even just the feel of her arm against his was nice. He tried to imagine what this would be like if they were _really_ together. Already safely ensconced in a relationship where they both felt secure and content. Would she mind if he leaned over and kissed her cheek? He nearly could right now. Her cheek was inches away. If he were allowed, felt secure, that’s what he would do. Nothing mad, just, y'know, show her how he was feeling about her, how much he loved her.

He leaned closer for a moment, so close she might have felt his breath on her face—if he were breathing. Then he swayed back, away from her and continued his work. Jemma glanced over, but said nothing.

They both left right at five o'clock. He'd been so busy the night before making food (he'd really tried to go all out and made things he knew she liked though ultimately she hadn't eaten much) and then finding his telescope in storage that he hadn’t had enough time to change. He was determined to fix that this time. Though he still thought he should make them a little something to eat.

He showered and even shaved. He changed into a dark blue shirt that, it seemed to him, Jemma liked. Then he made them sandwiches. It was one of Jemma’s favorites, made from her recipe, chicken salad with almonds and grapes. He thought about another bottle of wine and decided on beer instead. It seemed more casual with less romantic expectation hinging on it. He carried them and the sandwiches he made to her door. Knocking carefully, so he wouldn’t drop the tray.

When she opened up, he almost dropped it anyway. She was wearing pajamas, a thin-strapped tank top and soft-looking plaid bottoms. Fitz had seen Jemma in pajamas so many times it wasn’t worth counting, but somehow this was different and in no small part because this was, theoretically, a date.

She took the tray from him and set it on her bed. At first, it seemed that maybe she’d just changed out of her clothing and thrown them on for comfort, but she’d also showered, her hair was damp and he thought she’d put on fresh makeup. He was afraid to hope that it meant something.

“Mmm, looks delicious,” she said, with a smile. “I was wondering if we’d have to survive on popcorn, but you’ve surprised me again.” She sounded happy and again, Fitz tried to tamp down the hope that wanted to come to the surface.

His brain was having a more difficult time functioning than usual looking at so much of Jemma’s skin. He could see her arms, shoulders, back and— _front_. So much of her chest it was a bit painful. He could see the tops of her breasts and down into her cleavage. He wasn’t trying to look, he _really_ wasn’t.

“Mm-hmm,” he managed to say, hoping it was appropriate to whatever she'd said last, as he sat down next to the tray. He looked to Jemma and when she just stood there staring at him expectantly, he picked up one of the beers and drank about half of it in a go. _Let that kick in._ Good.

She shook her head almost imperceptibly and turned to start up the episode. Soon they were eating sandwiches and watching, frankly, one of the worst seasons of Doctor Who ever, but he didn’t really mind. He was with Jemma and…he _really_ wished he had another beer. His first one was long gone and after she’d finished her sandwich, Jemma had leaned over on her elbow giving him a clear view down her top and it was fairly apparent that she was not wearing a bra this time. He’d resisted looking ever since. If he looked again, he’d probably not be able to control himself. Wouldn’t that be a _lovely_ second date? If he ninja-stealth kissed her with a raging hard on. _Perfect_. One for the memory book of their happily ever after. No, he was going to need more beer.

“I–I’m—ehm, I’m goin’ to go get us another—er—" He squinted in her direction, pointing toward the door and trying not to look at her. “Ehm—"  _What was the fucking word?!_ “Beer! Be right, ehm—back.” After he finally managed to get it out, he leapt up and just had to hope she would attribute his stutter to his brain injury, not to his heightened arousal.

“Fitz?” she called after him softly, just as he’d gotten to the door and nearly home free.

He turned, feeling trapped. “Ehm, yeah?” He kept his eyes on the floor.

“What’s wrong?”

If she said anything more, he was having a hard time hearing her over the shrieking going on inside his head. “Ehm—I–I’m—I should probably just, ehm—go. It’s gettin’, ehm—" He looked at his wrist but he’d forgotten to put his watch back on after his shower. “Wow—it’s just _late_ , isn’t it?”

“Fitz, it’s not even seven o’clock. Can you please look at me?”

 _Good question._ He honestly wasn’t sure. He looked up and she was standing now. So it was, thankfully, a bit less challenging to look at her. “Yes,” he said his tone clipped. He gnawed on his cuticle and tried to think of something mathematical.

“I’m not really feeling like this is—I don't know—a _date_ ,” she said, her words seeming to swirl around in his mind like a washing machine, just not making any sense.

“What?” _Oh God, what had he done now?_ He was mucking everything up!

“I don’t think this is really what I was expecting,” she said and she looked hurt for a moment. _Fuckin’ Hell._ And was she…was she bloody well _pouting_?

“What were you expectin’?” he asked slowly, drawing the words out. He brought his thumb back up to chew on his cuticle again.

“I thought you would at least kiss me goodnight…” Fitz felt his stomach drop, then clench in anticipation. Really not what he’d been expecting her to say. Kissing Jemma—he both wanted and dreaded it more than anything else he could think of. She took a step toward him. He resisted the urge to take a step back. He tried to remind himself, she _wanted_ him to kiss her. She was _asking_ him to.

He took a very small step forward. She took another. “Jemma?” he said when they were close, her lips only inches away.

“Yes?” Her lids seemed to be quite heavy as she looked up at him from under her lashes. The feelings going through him scared him with their intensity.

“I’m afraid,” he said at last.

She froze. “Of _me_?”

“No, of…me.” He felt ashamed to admit it, but it was true. He was getting something that he wanted more than he’d ever wanted anything and he didn’t know if he could hold himself in check. Not that he _couldn’t,_ he was certainly not worried about not being able to stop in the _literal_ sense, but he was just so afraid of scaring her or pressuring her. But how to tell her that without sounding like a creepy nutter he wasn’t sure.

She was smirking at him.

“What?” He really didn’t see how this could be funny, not one bit.

Her face relaxed, and she said, “Fitz, do you _want_ to kiss me?” He nodded slowly. “Then _do_.”

The moment his lips touched hers this time, it was different. Maybe it was her voice or the way she clung to him but he didn’t freeze _or_ hold back. He caressed her lips with his, sliding his tongue easily into her willing mouth. She was making little noises of approval as he pulled her against him. Her hands went to his hair and she slipped her fingers through the curls, scratching against his scalp and making him shiver. He found a strip of skin on her back between her tank top and her pajama bottoms and he let his hand graze over it, stroking the softness with the tips of his fingers. She was pressing against him just right and he was beginning to make embarrassingly needy sounds. He thought he'd better stop. When he pulled back, he was a bit surprised at her face being so relaxed and serene.

“Is that _all_ you want to do, Fitz?” she asked and the tone of her voice was so low and sultry he gasped.

“No,” he heard himself say. And it was as if he weren’t in control of his own voice.

“What _else_ do you want to do to me?” Her eyes were locked onto his and he was both ashamed to say what he wanted out loud, but he also _really_ wanted to, so very much. There were a great many things he would like to do with Jemma but there was most definitely a first place winner. Something about the way she said “to me” made a good deal of blood surge in a southerly direction but, at the same time, it seemed slightly odd and he wasn’t sure he really liked it.

His eyes drifted subconsciously down to the desired objects and she chuckled, bringing her hand up to cover her mouth. Her laughter made the tops of her breasts bounce a little and all of a sudden he rather fervently blurted, “I want to touch your boobs—" He blinked in surprise at his own words. He screwed up one side of his face and corrected, "Ehm— _breasts_.” He was easily as suave as a love-sick puppy dog.

She seemed perfectly composed, even in the face of his colossal awkwardness. “Then _do_.” He gulped audibly at the raw, seductive quality of her voice.

Fitz felt like he was in a dream. Some crazy erotic dream with some fantasy, sex-kitten version of Jemma. He thought that maybe they should stop for now but she’d just given him permission to touch her boobs, er— _breasts_. And that wasn’t exactly something that happened to him every day.

Instead of going straight for them, he kissed her again—s _mooth, well, smooth-er._ He kissed her thoroughly and with even more reckless abandon that before. He felt his control slipping a tad. He was letting go, letting his passion carry him a bit. He splayed his hand across her ribcage, inches away. He would start to go up, then chicken out and go back down to the strip of naked skin at her waist. He groaned inwardly and realized that he’d _really_ be mortified if she had to tell him to stop, that he was pushing too far. He needed to take baby steps here. He’d never felt like this with anyone before, never felt this _much_. He wondered if maybe he should decide on an arbitrary line, one for each of their dates. This time just a little touching then he’d leave. Next time—if she was okay with it—maybe _under_ her shirt?

He was still toying with the idea when she finally just took his hand and pushed it up over her breast herself. He realized instantly that he’d been correct, she really wasn’t wearing a bra! Her nipple was hard against his palm and the rough cotton of her top in between her softness and his hand just made him want to get rid of it. But he didn’t dare. Also, that was against the rules—that he’d just made up. He kneaded and then ran his thumb over her stiff nipple, feeling it grow more tense before squeezing gently then drawing it out between his fingers. She moaned against his lips.

He still felt like he was in a dream. Only a few weeks ago, he’d been at a place of accepting that this was something that would never happen. Now that it was, his mind was having a difficult time adjusting.

He realized that Jemma was backing up. Her arms were around him and he was going with her. He broke their kiss. “What?” he managed.

“Come on, Fitz,” she said and sat down on the bed behind her. She scooted back until her feet were all the way on. He swallowed audibly and then debated internally. This was _not_ a baby step. _This—_ it was a big deal. But she was _asking_ him. His hands were shaking, arbitrary lines were suddenly gone from his head as he knelt on the bed in front of her and crawled forward. She pulled him down into another chaotic, exuberant kiss and he found the smooth skin of her belly between her shirt and bottoms. As he flicked his tongue gently over hers, he ran his hand back and forth over her soft belly, let his fingers dip down ever so slightly below the waistband of her pajama bottoms before he slid them up over her ribs.

She wrapped her legs around him and he was suddenly in the valley of her thighs. He could feel her heels in the crack of his arse, spurring him closer, pressing him into her until he was rubbing obscenely against her. And _fuck,_ it felt good. His hand had evidently found its own way up her tank top and he was rapidly sliding it back and forth from one breast to the other. He fingered the puckered skin and she arched up, filling his hand with yielding flesh. Almost beyond reason, he rutted between her legs and thought,  _Holy God, this is escalating quickly._ She was kissing him back heatedly and her tongue was _quite_ nimble. But she kept grinding up into his cock and he was afraid he was going to come any minute. That certainly wouldn't do. He didn't want it to be all about him.

But his lips were becoming hot and swollen, Jemma’s fingers were knotted tightly in his hair and he knew he felt—overwhelmed. This was so much more than he was expecting. He wanted to come up for air, just for a minute. They could try to figure out the next step together. He pulled back and the look on Jemma’s face was… _not_ what he was expecting. She looked so normal. She seemed to be breathing a bit quicker but other than that— _nothing_. He imagined that he looked a complete mess: face flushed, eyes burning with desire and he was beginning to sweat, his shirt sticking to his back rather uncomfortably. Lord only knew what his hair looked like after the treatment she’d given it. But other than a bit of smeared red lipstick, she just looked like—Jemma. She seemed so calm, definitely _not_ completely filled with lust as he was.

That’s when the fear gripped him. He was suddenly certain that she was just—letting him do what he wanted. Not really wanting it at all. _Enduring it._ He pulled away then, sitting up on the side of the bed. His stomach was churning, he might actually be sick.

“Fitz? What’s wrong?” She sounded a little scared and that somehow only pounded another nail in the coffin.

He thought of how he’d been acting before the base’s invasion, snapping at her and treating her, not like a friend, but almost as an enemy. She was scared of losing their friendship and this was the way she had devised to save them. It was all his fault. He clutched at his roiling stomach. But he needed to know for sure.

“Are you—do you love me?” He didn’t say it at all softly, it was too loud and seemed to reverberate through the room.

“Y–yes,” she said. He knew it was probably irrational to put so much significance into a tiny stutter. After all, how much meaning could be derived from _his_ stuttering? But still, it was enough.

“I mean, are you _in love_ with me?” It was a little softer this time but it was also strong and clear. Exactly as he wanted the answer to be. But her hesitation was really all he needed to confirm his fears. He shook his head, lowering it into his hands. “You’re not, are you?”  He hated the watery quaver of his voice as he said it.

He got up then, straightened his clothing and quickly walked out the door, wiping the lipstick from his lips as he went. He thought he heard a noise from her as he closed the door behind him, but he couldn’t bring himself to look back.

He wouldn’t let himself cry. He was too angry with himself. It was his own fault anyway, he’d pushed her into this. He wasn’t quite sure why it had been so easy for him to accept the mad, irrational notion that Jemma Simmons was the only woman in the world for him. He felt it, even now, down to his bones, but he had to accept that it was just a fantasy. He had to stop letting himself be swayed into believing that she could ever actually love him. It was very evident at this point that it just wasn’t meant to be. And really, that made much more sense. He’d never thought he was good enough for her anyway, even _before_.


	5. In Which She Sets Him Straight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so late. I came down with a stomach bug and spent the night puking. Never let it be said that I let a stomach bug interfere with getting smut out. 
> 
> I will overcome! (Just imagine me collapsing in a heap as I say that. Sad but accurate.) 
> 
> Also, this is likely very poorly edited due to said bug, but I figured you guys would forgive me more for that than missing today entirely. ;)

The next morning, for the first time in her life, Jemma was truly afraid to go into the lab that she shared with Fitz.

Her plan had completely backfired! Well, it hadn’t been so much a _plan_ as—a course of action. She just wanted to get past all the awkwardness and on to the actual change in their relationship. She had a feeling it would be worth it. She just wanted an end to all the confusion and heartache. She believed they could be happy together. That was the thing about Fitz though—he was _interesting_. Unfortunately, interesting also sometimes meant _unpredictable_.

She hadn’t much cared how things went last night. Had he wanted to keep going—have sex—she had been open to that. But if he’d only wanted to touch, kiss, be together that way, it would have been fine as well. Though she had to admit, she'd gotten a bit overexcited. It had been lovely though—while it lasted. She honestly didn’t know what had happened. They were just getting very intense and he’d suddenly stopped and demanded that she proclaim her love for him. Of all the things she’d tried to anticipate about last night, she hadn’t been remotely prepared for that one.

And it certainly wasn’t that she _didn’t_ love him, it was that she didn’t really know what being _in love_ meant to him. She loved him and she wanted him—in every way. Was there more that she was supposed to feel? She didn’t know what he was asking for. A commitment? She was ready for them to make it real in any way he wanted. Faced with his dire ultimatum, she just hadn’t known what to say.

Ignoring her fears, she finally made her way to the lab with two cups of tea balanced in her hands but he wasn’t there. She set his tea on his desk and waited. She tried to work, but nothing was happening in her head that didn’t have to do with Fitz. She was terrified that he’d somehow decided that what she had to offer just wasn’t enough for him anymore. Perhaps she wasn't able to give him what he needed in the end? He clearly didn't believe she really loved him but she had no idea why. Perhaps she was lacking in some way? Why did it all have to be so complicated?

At lunchtime, she decided to text him.

[Hello?] There was no response.

[Fitz, please can’t we discuss this?] Still no response.

She tried to work. Around three o’clock, she was sitting at her computer, staring blankly and wondering if he would take it as a terrible breach of privacy if she actually sought him out, when she heard: “Jemma?” 

She knew it was him instantly. She turned slowly, clutching at her sleeve for something to hang onto and he was there, standing in the doorway looking very uncomfortable. She rose from her seat. For some reason, standing to her full height made her feel less vulnerable. Seeing his face, she didn’t have a good feeling about the conversation they were about to have.

“Fitz?” She didn’t even know what tone to use. Were they fighting again? Did he want to end it before it even began? Her mouth was suddenly unusually dry and she had difficulty swallowing.

He looked profoundly sad and he could barely meet her eyes as he began to speak. “A–are you—I mean, _do you_ …” He tapped his temple and shook his bad hand loosely before him in frustration. She hadn’t seen him struggling for words to this level for some time. It scared her. His face became pinched as he searched for what he wanted to say. “ _Fuck_. Maybe, er—I–I think this just isn’t—ehm, working?” He still wasn’t looking at her, he was looking off down the hallway, as if he couldn’t wait to get away from her.

“What?” She felt liquid cold tendrils of fear snaking their way down her spine. Somehow she knew he wasn’t just talking about last night. She thought maybe he was telling her they were over. She couldn’t draw in a breath. She felt like she was choking and she pulled at the collar of her blouse, trying to make some room for the air to come in. Gasping in a breath, she pressed her lips together hard to hold back the tears that were threatening.

“I just mean—you don’t seem—” He shook his head. “I can still work—f–from the Bus, I think that might be better…”

She didn’t think, she just acted. One moment she was standing at her workstation and the next she was in his arms. “No, Fitz. Please don’t go.” She hardly recognized her own voice it was so filled with anguish.

There was a loud rushing in her ears, it thrummed and throbbed like the beat of her heart. His hands were running up and down her back, circling around, then side to side. She clung to him, her hands finding the back of his neck, fingers burrowing into his hairline. She didn’t think she could take his leaving again. She felt hot tears in her eyes but they burned at the rims and didn’t fall.

“Jemma,” he said and somehow it was barely her name, it was a desolate noise that escaped his throat like a sob.

She pulled away enough to see his face, though she still clung to his shoulders. His eyes were watery and his trembling lips were turned down slightly at the corners.

“Please, Fitz. Please, tell me that’s not what you want.” She wanted to beg him to stay but she pressed her lips together and waited for his answer.

“I…” he looked up at the ceiling, whether to keep tears from falling or to phrase his reply, Jemma couldn’t say. “I just want—I want you to love me.”

The abject sorrow that filled his words finally made the tears drop from her eyes. “I _do_ love you.” Her reply was so vehement he blinked at her in surprise. “I don’t think—“

“Hey, guys,” Skye said, walking into the lab at a brisk trot before stopping short just two steps in. They both turned away simultaneously, walking to opposite sides of the room like guilty teenagers. “Uh, did I—um. Oh.” Skye turned on her heel and started to walk out the door again.

“Skye,” Jemma said, firmly brushing the tears from her face, trying to maintain some sort of dignity. “What is it? Something I can help with?”

Skye turned around. “Uh, no. I mean, not, um, right now. Later, okay?”

Jemma nodded and when Skye was gone, leaving just her and Fitz again, she was suddenly terrified that he would let things go once more. At least, until one of them couldn’t take it anymore and then the whole scenario would play out again. She couldn't bear another near-miss like this.

“Fitz.” It came out more loudly than she intended, making her realize just how aggravated she really was with him.

He was standing on the other side of the lab, his finger slowly tracing invisible designs on the tabletop in front of him. His eyes shot up to meet hers at her call.

“Can we _please_ discuss this?” Her frustration was clear in her strained tone. “Please, just tell me _why_ you don’t believe what I’m saying? I know—well, that I’ve let you down and I’m truly sorry for that, but—I’d never lie to you. Not about how I feel.” She clutched her hands to her chest to stop them shaking.

Fitz looked a bit stricken at her words, his eyes were wide and he looked rather paler than usual. He started to speak but then he flitted a glance at the open door and back at her again. She took his meaning plainly.  “Let’s go speak privately then.” He looked almost frightened at the suggestion. “ _Please_.” She didn’t like the needy sound to her voice, but his eyes immediately softened and he walked toward her.

Fitz kept his distance as they strode silently, side-by-side back to the scene of the crime, Jemma’s bunk. Though she had no idea what crime she’d committed. Once inside, he sat as far away from her as he could get on the bed which was the only seating in the room. She tried not to be hurt by it but the threat of tears had already returned, she gulped them back. It seemed clear that something had wounded him. She just couldn’t figure out how it could have been her fault. She knew him quite well, knew he was sometimes prone to jumping to unfortunate conclusions and she found she was angry with him for not giving her the benefit of the doubt. She felt the tears stinging against her lower lids and she wasn’t sure if it was the anger or the hurt, or perhaps it was both.

“I don’t know what happened last night but I think it’s safe to say that whatever it was, it happened inside your head, Fitz.” She sniffed back her tears, her mouth a tight line as she cringed inwardly at how bitter she sounded.

She thought he might get angry then but, instead, he just took on a look of spiritless dejection. His head was bent toward the floor, his eyes were still a bit watery and his hands were clasped tightly together in his lap. “Jemma, I–I just don’t think you—f–feel the same way that I do and if tha’s not how it can be then—well, I just—I don’t want... _that_.”

“I don’t know what you’re asking for, Fitz!” She hadn’t meant to shout but she was growing resentful of his continued stonewalling. He was talking around something and she didn’t know what it was. “Just _tell_ me,” she plead urgently, though a bit more quietly.

“I know you love me as a friend, but I want—” He looked away sharply and huffed out a hollow, humorless laugh but she heard tears in it. “I want the messy, romantic, desperate-to-be-near-you kind of love, I suppose." He seemed like he was trying to turn his head toward her but couldn't quite make himself do it. "I just would want you to miss me when I’m gone…a–and you wouldn't be able to wait for me to get home. So you’d have to fly out to see me. And I’d have to pick you up at the airport, j–just so we could be together that much sooner. And then—" He seemed to fold in on himself, shoulders slumping forward, like he wanted to disappear as he continued, "We'd never be able to—well, to wait to get back to the hotel. S–so we’d have to, ehm, to make out in the cab on the way there. When we finally got there, we—well, we wouldn’t even make it to the bed—b–because we–we'd want each other so much. Okay? Is that—do you _understand_?” It all came out in a rush. Even as his brain lingered over certain words or concepts, they all tumbled over each other, one on top of the next in his skittish timidity.

This was probably the most personal and intimate thing he had ever said to her. He had high spots of color on his cheeks, clearly embarrassed by his own words, yet his jaw was steadfastly set. And Jemma understood immediately that he had decided if she wasn’t able to give him this, it would be over between them. He feared her apathy and this was her last chance to prove otherwise.

But tears were slowly sliding down her cheeks at hearing Fitz’s tender, utterly perfect illustration of the type of ardent love he longed to share with her and she couldn’t quite get any words out over the large lump in her throat. He was peering at her with a mix of concern and confusion.

When she finally swallowed back her tears enough to speak, she said, “You prat. You’re unbelievable.”

“What?” He looked shocked at first but it quickly shifted to indignant, his brows drawn together and eyes squinting down to glare at her as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“That was how I felt _last night_ when you unceremoniously left me sitting in the middle of my _bed_!” She swallowed thickly again and scooted a bit closer. Her tone softened as she asked, “Why would you think I didn’t feel that way?”

He looked down at the floor, she could see the wheels turning and he was just beginning to look a bit guilty. “I—your face. You didn’t—I was afraid you just didn’t want us to—I dunno— _end_ , I s'pose. That you,” he clearly tried to swallow down some emotion of his own, “didn’t really want me—not like _that_.”  Jemma slid closer, trying to hear his quiet words until their shoulders were nearly touching. He had trailed down in volume so low he could barely be heard.

Which was why it was such a contrast when Jemma yelled at him. “Fitz! You thought I would—what? Just let you have your way with me so you wouldn’t end up leaving?”

“Ehm— _maybe_?” He had the emotional intelligence to at least look sheepish, but she could still see some sort of worry creeping across his brow.

“I wouldn’t do that,” she said. “Last night I was happy. I thought things were finally going to be settled between us, that we would be—I don't know— _official_ and I suppose, it just made me bloody well happy. I’m sorry if I didn’t meet your expectations of enthusiasm.” She couldn’t quite keep the bite out of her words. She was still feeling the hurt that he’d just left her without explaining himself.

The look on Fitz’s face was something between sadness and horror at realizing he’d left her for no reason. “No, Jemma. It wasn't that, you were—incredible. No, you're right, it was me. I’m so, _so_ sorry. I’m—this is all, y'know, new to me. Tha’s not a good excuse, I know, but I really have no clue. And maybe, in the end, I was just— _scared_.”

“Of me?” she asked for the second time in as many days.

He shook his head, unable to look at her again. “No. I think—I’m just still scared of losin’ you. Even now. It’s like the other shoe is goin’ to drop and tha’ll be it. This. Us. We’ll be over.” He scrubbed his palms over his face and Jemma could hear that he was still fighting back tears.

She didn’t want him to be afraid of that. She wanted him to know it was forever for her because, really, it always had been. “Fitz, I’d marry you—if—well, if you asked me.” She said it while keeping her gaze locked on her hands as they rested in her lap. When he didn’t say anything, she glanced up.

His eyes were round with surprise and at first she thought it was shock, or perhaps fear. “You—but I thought you said you didn’t think you’d _ever_ get married?” _Maybe it really was fear._ She honestly couldn’t really tell if he was happily surprised or downright terrified.

“That was when I never thought—it would be us. You were my best friend and I never expected to meet anyone else that—well, anyone else like you. You’re everything I could ever want. You’re the only person—just the only person I could ever imagine having that with. There's never been anyone but you that I never wanted to be without.” She reached out her hand and brushed it across his knee but, still feeling insecure, she pulled it back to clasp it together with her other hand.

She didn’t want to go too far in the opposite direction and frighten him off by letting him think she expected some grand proposal now. She shook her head and added, “I’m not asking for that, by the way, I just—I don’t want you to be afraid of me leaving you. I want this and I’m here however you want that to look. You know I don’t care about that. But I want you to feel safe—to be happy. That’s what will make me happy.” She still didn’t know if he wanted to hear all of this, but now that they were finally communicating it was as if the floodgates of her heart had opened and now she couldn’t stop. “Fitz, I think that perhaps—we might actually be soulmates."

“You do?" The question almost sounded as though it were expelled involuntarily. His voice rose half a register in his surprise at her words.

Even Jemma couldn't really understand how she could believe in something so scientifically unprovable. It was such a romantic notion, illogical, but something about it felt right. That, and it oddly gave her a sense of hope.

“If every particle that exists has a counterpart somewhere in the universe, then why not human beings? Your parallel—someone so flawlessly matched to your heart and mind that they could even—oh, I don't know—complete your sentences, for example," she smiled wryly, "And they would love you, not just for what you can do, but for the person that you are in your heart. Is that—is it such a mad idea? Even Einstein believed there was more to the world than could be explained by science...”

She was afraid he would think it was overly-sentimental, or worse, foolish. If it weren't for her intuition driving her to accept the belief, she didn't think anyone could convince her either. She was afraid of what it would mean if he thought it was daft. She hadn't been able to look at him as she spoke; she was looking instead at her hands as she slowly swept her thumb over her palm, back and forth, over and again. When she glanced up finally, Fitz was staring at her hands, too.

“And tha’s what you think we’re like? Entwined particles? So whatever happens to one also affects the other?” He was gazing at her with a soft expression that she thought she recognized as love or perhaps reverence. His eyes were full of emotion but his mouth was tense, as if he were trying to hold back a great flood of feeling. He also looked as though he couldn’t believe the conversation they were having. Neither could she, for that matter.

“Yes, Fitz. Everything that happens to you affects me. And I rather like to think the opposite is true, as well.” She was looking straight into his sea-blue eyes and she didn’t see how he could possibly doubt her sincerity now.

He reached for her then, his hands sliding over her shoulders and into her hair as his mouth came down on hers in a kiss that finally came close to making her understand the depths of his longing for her. The silky glide of his tongue against hers was intoxicating, she almost felt giddy. She gave in to the manic heat of his lips against hers as his fingers tangled at the back of her head. A delicious tingle spread all the way down her spine as he swirled his hands through her hair, fingertips tickling along her neckline. The pangs of her own hunger curled through her as he caught the tip of her tongue and caressed it tenderly. She brought her fingers up to trace delicately over the rim of his ear and on down the line of his jaw, finally clutching at his shoulder as she became nearly breathless.

Already, incredible heat was building within her and her breath was coming so quickly, she felt like she was drowning in want. She flushed suddenly at the thought of all the intimate places she was about to discover. Places she had never been allowed as only a friend. She let her hand slip down over his chest until she was scratching at the line of his shirt, pulling it up to run her fingers over his naked belly just above his belt. He hummed into her mouth and increased his efforts. Impulsively, she dropped her fingers lower to stroke him lightly through his trousers and his lips suddenly grew much slower, his mouth opening and closing against hers almost in a lax rhythm of _curiosity_. She pressed the flat of her hand against him and he exhaled sharply.

She pulled back just enough to make eye contact. She slid one hand around to grasp the nape of his neck. “Fitz, I want you to make love to me now. Just like you said—madly, desperately, don’t hold yourself back.”


	6. In Which They Become Entwined

His eyes were a little wild and perhaps slightly overwhelmed but he nodded. He pulled her back to fit tightly against him, lips brushing against hers tenderly at first and then slowly building to fevered, lustful proportions as his tongue delved deeply.

He moved one hand down the front of her neck and over to stroke his thumb along her collarbone shyly before he boldly slipped his hand down inside her neckline and into the cup of her bra to palm her naked breast. She inhaled sharply at the warm tingle of his fingers finding her nipple in the confined space. She quickly began to unbutton her blouse and he was almost roughly pushing the unwanted fabric off her shoulders as soon as she finished.  

Once it was off, he reeled her back in, his lips finding her neck and shoulder as she tried to work at his buttons. _Why so many?_ She gave up when he found her cleavage. He looked rather worshipfully at her breasts before he went to work kissing, licking and almost guiltily dropping his tongue down inside the cup of her bra as he searched out her nipple. Finally, he pulled it between his lips through the thin fabric even as she tried to get the clasp undone.

He was trying to ease her backwards and she realized there was a very particular thing they would most definitely need first.

“Fitz, wait.” She gave just enough of a push against his shoulder to get him to look up. “I need to get something first, alright?” He looked slightly disappointed but nodded.

She extricated herself from his arms gently and stood to go to her dresser, intending to get one of the condoms she’d gotten in hopes they might be needed soon. As she reached down for the drawer handle, she caught a glimpse of him moving behind her in the dresser’s large mirror.

He wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her shoulder. As she leaned back into him, she felt him there, hard against the curve of her backside. She dropped her head back onto his shoulder and was struck not by his want but by his sweetness. Now free to touch her as he liked, instead, he took this time to just hold her. He used up a moment to show her she was not only desired but also loved.

“I really do love you,” she said, glancing sideways to meet his eyes.

He squeezed briefly around her waist, his fingers splayed over her belly, and brushed his nose through the hair above her ear. "You know I love you, too, Jemma. I love you more than anythin'."

She reached playfully around behind to cup his bum and give it a slow squeeze. He smiled against her shoulder before leaning forward to place a wet kiss to the side of her neck, eliciting a hum of approval.

He moved his hands up to cover her breasts, kneading through her bra, and she rocked back into him. He dragged his fingers down, grazing her nipples through the fabric before sliding back beneath it. Her bra came up with a little snap of elastic to bunch under her arms. She arched back, molding her breasts into his hands and he groaned as he pressed into her backside. She reached behind to weave her fingers into his hair as he locked his mouth onto the side of her neck again, nipping hard.

“God, Jemma,” he said into her ear, his breath coming heavily and sending tendrils of hair out to tickle her cheek. “You’re so gorgeous.”

Wanting her binding garment off, she reached between them to finally unclasp her bra and shrug it off her shoulders, dropping it to the floor carelessly.

He began kissing down her back and she rolled forward to give him access as his moist kisses wound a heated path down her spine. Kissing his way back up, he fairly growled with want as he bit down on her shoulder. She gasped out his name and rolled her hips, reaching back to take hold of the loose fabric of his trouser legs, pulling him forward, grinding him against her until he let out a shuddering breath against her neck.

He ran one hand over her stomach until he found the button of her jeans. He tried to push past it but they were far too tight. She immediately reached down to undo her zip so he would have room to work. He moved his hand down, ever-so-slowly into her knickers, fingers curling down and down until he slid one finger into the moist heat between her legs.

She moaned, head falling back against his shoulder again as he made contact, almost forgetting to be shy about how easily his fingers moved through her wetness. She angled her hips, trying to help him find where she wanted him before he pushed one slicked finger inside. Her mouth went slack at the thrill of pleasure that sliced all the way through her as he grazed over her clit and added another long finger.

“Fitz, oh,” she moaned, trailing off into a tuneless hum as she rocked her hips forward to meet the smooth slide of his fingers thrusting deeply into her. Her legs grew shaky and she reached forward to steady herself on the dresser. Then she caught a glimpse of them in the mirror.

She sucked in a stunned breath at the image. Fitz was still working deliberately down her neck and shoulder, pausing only to moan against her skin as he rolled his hips. With one hand he caressed her breast, gently rolling her nipple between two fingers. The other hand was shoved deep inside her knickers as he very slowly fucked her with two of his lovely long fingers.

The smoldering heat of her arousal flared to agonizing levels at the wanton sight. Her muscles fluttered around his fingers and she bucked her hips, groaning loudly, not even able to care how animalistic she sounded.

It almost didn’t seem to be them somehow. The savage eroticism on display was nothing she’d ever imagined between them and she felt herself smiling involuntarily. This was a completely new Fitzsimmons coming into being. She'd never thought this level of passion could exist between them. And for once, she was pleased to be wrong. They would never be the same now and, for the first time, that idea wasn't frightening at all.

Her rapt attention inadvertently drew his gaze to the mirror as well, he let out a slow yearning sigh that had her rocking her hips against his fingers again. Too soon, he eased from her, leaving behind a terrible hollow ache and she let out a plaintive whimper that had her pressing her lips together against letting any further sounds out. He brought both hands up slowly over her belly and up to cup her breasts one last time. Then, he hooked his fingers in the waistband of her jeans and began to peel them, along with her knickers, down her legs.

He went down on his knee as he did it, lifting first one foot to slide the leg off and then the other. He placed a soft kiss to her hip as he rose and she quickly fumbled in the drawer in front of her for a condom. She held it out to him but he didn’t take it. He shook his head and urged her back, surprising her by lifting her up onto the dresser. The fake wood veneer was cool on her bum but she could hardly complain when she saw the mischievous look in his eyes and knew that whatever was about to happen would be worth it.

He kissed her again, sucking at her bottom lip, his tongue grazing along her own until the tips of their tongues just met. The persistent throb between her legs had become an unbearable ache. She moaned against his lips as she pulled at his clothes trying to bring him between her legs. But she sensed a change. He began to restrain himself. She still felt his eagerness, but his kiss was tempered and his touches became modulated. Nothing stopped at all, it all just…cooled. Worried and uncertain, she tried to finish with the buttons of his shirt but he was already kissing his way down to her breasts. He used his mouth to meticulously explore first one then the other as he held her around the small of her back, delicately grazing over her tender skin with his fingertips.

As he suckled at her, it sent a buzzing line of pleasure down her spine that began at his lips and ended with the pulsing thrum of heat between her legs. Just as she was beginning to grow truly desperate, ready to touch herself to ease the building pressure, he continued on, licking patterns across her stomach and she let out a small whimper from the back of her throat, a needy exhalation of sound. 

When he reached the small thatch of hair down below, he looked up to meet her eyes. She just peered back at him, curious to see if he would actually go through with what he was teasing. His eyes never left hers as he used his bristly whiskers to scrape ticklishly down through her downy hair and against the insides of her thighs while he got in position.

The question of whether he knew what he was doing was answered as the first sweep of his tongue went right over her clit. It was like an electric shock of pleasure. She tensed, her legs trembled and her heels searched for support as he tried to steady her. He put his palms against her thighs and held her legs securely on his shoulders as he began to explore her. He caressed her folds with gentle strokes until she was gasping and making rather unsubtle noises that might have been embarrassing had she been paying any attention.

He teased at her entrance, then pushed his tongue deep inside and she couldn’t stop herself from letting out a small breathless cry at the feeling. He managed to keep a constant pressure just where she needed it as he increased the friction. Blunt tongue brushed over sensitive nerves until, suddenly, like a struck match, she exploded in white-hot pleasure from the point of contact. When she finally opened her eyes, it was to him gazing up at her as he skimmed his tongue through one final time before placing a quick moist kiss on her inner thigh.

She would have expected him to look pleased with himself but his face was intense and serious. It was nearly the same look of focus he had when was working on a very important project and it made her smile to think he would treat her as a task that should be properly completed.

“Was that amusin' for you?” He was half-smiling, his brows raised high up his forehead, in an endearing look of confused curiosity. He stood up, pressing his hips between her thighs as he scrubbed at his mouth with his shirt sleeve.  

“You just looked so serious,” she said unable to keep the smile from her lips.

“Absolutely, I’ve got a very serious and important mission.” His lips continued to curve into a playful smile as he slid his hands from her knees to her hips then up her arms, from elbows to shoulders, looking quite lascivious as he did so.

She pulled him down, their lips crashing together in a fierce kiss flavored with arousal. Now he was in reach, she quickly rucked his half-unbuttoned shirt up to his armpits. He reached behind to help, pulling on both his vest top and button down, but before he'd even gotten them over his head, she was already running her hands up his stomach and over his chest, finally able to touch naked skin. She traced over his ribs with her fingertips and over his pecs, enjoying his smoothness. She pulled him close and placed a kiss there on his chest wishing she had more time to explore. She kissed his neck messily and put a hand to either side of his face to drag him down into another deep kiss.

She soon had his zip open and he grabbed for his belt just as she was shoving everything off his hips, only to toe off his trainers before he dropped jeans and boxers both, kicking them away quickly. She pressed the condom into his hand and after a moment of crinkling foil, he hooked his wrists behind her knees and pulled her toward him. She felt his hardness against her thigh and she reached down to guide him but he dragged her forward again so she was just balanced on the edge of the dresser.

She felt him there at her entrance as he met her eyes. He'd become so decisive, she was surprised to see a sudden familiar glimmer of hesitation. It was as if he were telling her that this was the final stage in their transformation and, once again, it filled him with some deep worry. 

On impulse, to encourage or inflame perhaps even to reassure, she said, “Fitz, I want you inside of me now.” The hesitation faded as his eyes filled with a dark lust. And if he'd meant to go slow, her words spurred him because he plunged in deeply, making her gasp. Fortunately, she was so slick and ready, it was incredible. It was the answer to a question that she’d been afraid to ask for far too long. Their bodies fit together as well as their minds ever had and she wondered now why they'd wasted so many years.

He hiked her knees up higher, thrusting in again and the extreme angle crashed him against her most sensitive places. Each time he moved it was a jolt of pleasure against her already sensitive nerves. She bit her lip, awash in sensation, panting as he licked the fine sheen of sweat off her neck and breasts. It wasn’t long before she was savoring the approach of another oncoming orgasm. Each urgent drive of his hips brought her just a tiny bit closer but unable to control the contact she couldn’t quite find what she needed to strike fire again.

She thought of just tensing her muscles and making sure he enjoyed himself fully when he reached down to stroke her. Letting her legs relax and lessening the angle so he could slide his fingers between them. His rapid strum pushed her over the edge as he surged into her again. She felt herself begin to pulse with such intensity, vivid colors flared chaotically behind her eyelids with the force of it.

He was groaning quietly against her temple as she returned to her senses and she could still feel his spasms deep inside. He clutched her close with his arms around her back, nose brushing over her forehead as he whispered a hushed I-love-you. She petted his hair and kissed his cheeks. After he withdrew, with his hand to steady her, she gingerly eased herself down to the floor and walked rather creakily to the bed against the advice of her exhausted leg muscles.

“Lord, I’m going to be sore tomorrow,” she muttered to herself.

Hearing her complaint all the way in the loo, Fitz sounded positively jubilant. “Really?”

She couldn’t help but laugh. “I meant my legs, but it is possible that _other things_ might be sore as well, honestly.”

“Mission accomplished in that case,” he said, erupting into a fit of happy laughter.

“I just need to rest for a moment,” Jemma said, stretching out on her bed. “Then maybe a shower before getting back to work.”

“Jemma, I think work is over and done with for the day at this stage.” He flopped onto the bed beside her and she rolled into him, letting her head rest in the hollow of his shoulder.

“Really?” she asked without much enthusiasm, eyes already drifting shut. "Oh, good."

She fell asleep that way, happy and content, and didn’t come to until she felt someone poking her arm. “Jem _ma_. Wakey-wakey, Jemma.”

She tried to shoo them away but they were persistent. Must be Fitz. “What?”

“Get dressed. I want to show you something.”

She tried to ignore him but he kept prodding until she finally sat up in bed. “I’m up. I’m awake. Now—what is it?”

At his insistence and without a shower, she cleaned up and got dressed sleepily. Finally, allowing him to drag her out to the hangar where he had an SUV waiting. As she got in, (feeling the slight ache proving Fitz’s mission was indeed successful) he pressed a thermos of tea into her hands before they set off for destinations unknown—at least to her.

But after three cups of tea she finally recognized where they were going. Fitz opened her door and ushered her out when they arrived. He was carrying, what she knew to be, his telescope and another hamper of, what she must assume, was more food. She trailed him to the rise in the middle of the field where she laid out the blanket as he set up the telescope. He urged her behind it once he had it properly aligned again.

“This is what I was trying to show—er, tell you last time,” he said. “Venus and Jupiter—well, they won’t pass this close again for another twenty years or so.”

She looked through the eyepiece and nodded. They looked even closer than when they’d last seen them. “Mm-hmm, I see.”

“Jemma, it’s just—it’s sort of like us. Sometimes we’re so close and other times—we’re not. But we always come back together eventually. Right? We always will no matter what, won’t we?” His voice had a slight quality of worry to it and Jemma hurt knowing that even now he was afraid of losing her. She didn’t know if she had done this to him or if it was just the way he was built, but she would do everything in her power to put his fears to rest.

“ _Always_ , Fitz. I’ll always come back to you. My orbit has drawn me to you since the day we met.” He was just to the side of her and she leaned toward him and pulled him down to meet her lips in a tender, delicate kiss that made her pulse begin to quicken. She traced the shape of his lips with her tongue and when she pulled back it took a moment before he opened his eyes.

“Tha’s more what I was hopin’ for last time we were out here.” He had a bit of a goofy smile on his face as he added, “I want you to know that I’d marry you tomorrow, in a heartbeat, if I thought it was what you really wanted but—it’s not important. Not right now anyway.”

She wrapped her arms around him, squeezing his middle with all her might. “If it’s important to you now—or later, I’m ready, Fitz. Anytime you’d like. But I don’t need anything to remind me that we’ll always be together.” She looked up to see the moonlight reflected in his eyes and added, “We have become entwined. Whether through some unknown fate, the very creation of our atoms, or the catalyst of this love we both feel, I just don't know, but we're forever joined now. If you're happy, I will be too. It's inevitable, and as fixed as the rotation of the planets around the sun. Sometimes I hardly feel like we're still two people. Do you ever feel it?”

She sounded a bit breathless as she finished. She was afraid he would think she’d gone a bit mental suddenly becoming irrationally romantic in a way she’d never expressed before. But somehow she felt the truth of her words and hoped that he would too.

He smiled and nodded, but, in the moonlight, she thought she might have seen the glisten of tears in his eyes. “I love you, Jemma,” he whispered, his voice thick and full of emotion as he hugged her to him.

“I love you, too, Fitz.”

They looked up at the night sky together for a few minutes until Fitz, his tone grown impish, asked, “Just now, y'know what I’d like t' do?” She shook her head, her lips curving into a smile at his new, playful tone. “I’d like to see what all that romantic business about makin’ love under the stars is on about. What do y'say to that, then?” He waggled his eyebrows at her in the moonlight and she actually found herself giggling. She'd been right. They could definitely be happy together.

“I say _yes_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gah, my most explicit yet! Hope it was all you wished for it to be.
> 
> Thanks for all your well-wishes yesterday. I'm much better today!
> 
> One more chapter tomorrow...a little epilogue.


	7. Epilogue

**Two weeks later**

It had started out innocently enough. They were working on Doc and Fitz was leaning across her again while she held some wires out of his way. Suddenly he’d leaned in and started to kiss her on the cheek. She still wasn’t sure how she'd known. If she’d seen something to clue her in or just somehow inherently felt it coming, but she’d turned into the kiss and met his lips with her own.

That had very rapidly intensified to the rather steamy scene they were now in the midst of.

Fitz’s tongue was eagerly exploring her mouth, caressing her tongue with a delicateness and enthusiasm that was quickly leading down a path toward some _very_ unprofessional behavior.  She couldn’t bring herself to stop him though as he pressed her against the workbench, his fingers digging into her hip as he tried to pull her even closer to him. His other hand had made its way under her lab coat to do some impressive squeezing of her bum. She was trying to think of it as physical therapy rather than improper lab etiquette.

That’s when they heard the sudden clatter of someone striking the lab’s large glass windows.

They both looked over guiltily, only to see Skye standing on the other side of the glass, hands pressed flat as she pounded. “I...said...blackout!” she called loudly but was still somewhat muffled by the barrier. “I can’t un-see!” She tapped her temple emphatically. “I need T.A.H.I.T.I. now.” She knocked her forehead into the glass and whimpered.

“Oh…just…sod off, Skye. I’m kissing my boyfriend,” Jemma shouted back.

Fitz's head craned toward her, his jaw slack and his eyebrows pushed together in disbelief. Skye was looking up through the glass with an expression that was probably best described as stunned amusement. Her mouth had formed a little O of shock but quickly slipped into a knowing grin as she casually turned and headed down the hall again. “Good for you,” she called back over her shoulder, giving them a thumbs up as she rounded the corner.

Fitz’s smile was rather impish as he asked: “You plannin' to kiss our children with that mouth?”

“And what children would those be?” She stood up straight, pushing him back a bit as she did so. She smoothed her hair over her ears and pulled at her clothing, trying to put herself back in order.

“The seven children we’re goin’ to have as soon as I can work you up to it,” he said, grabbing her around the waist and pulling her to him again.

She scoffed and eyed him with incredulity. “That’ll be a long time coming then.”

He placed a soft kiss on her neck. “Pretty please?” She felt his smile against her skin and couldn’t keep one from her own lips.

“One.”

“Really?” he asked, pulling back to look at her, searching her eyes. He looked a bit awed.

“In—oh, maybe— _ten_ years.” She smirked at his look of consternation.

“Ten?” He sagged a bit with disappointment as the number sunk in. Smile growing devilish again, he leaned down to kiss her neck. This time it was softer, wetter. She felt the tip of his tongue come out to flick against her skin. “What about _two_ years?” His words came out a bit muffled by her neck.

“Seven.” He kissed a bit lower, sucking and then scraping with his teeth lightly. She gasped at the feel of him biting where neck and shoulder met. “But—an argument _could_ be made for five.”

“Is this an argument we could have in bed tonight?” he asked, sliding his tongue out to trace her collarbone.

“Cheeky—but _perhaps_ …” They both chuckled lightly.

He nuzzled her neck and she pressed her nose to his springy curls. He sounded playful yet oddly serious when he said, “I’ll make you a bargain: for every orgasm I give you—another baby.”

“Well, I should think that would be a given, but I still said _one_.” She heard him make a small disappointed hum as he stood up to his full height. She sighed loudly, bringing her hands to her hips. “Perhaps—two. But I _absolutely_ draw the line at two.”

Fitz’s grin remained mischievous as he picked up her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm. “I guess we’ll see about that, won’t we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been fun. Thanks for playing!

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I will be updating this daily until it runs its course. 
> 
> Please comment/review! I want to hear your voice! 
> 
> Love it? Hate it? Give me the knowledge! I will use it to write all the things more better.
> 
> Humongous thank you to [memorizingthedigitsofpi](http://archiveofourown.org/users/memorizingthedigitsofpi) for beta'ing for me again. She's the best! Check out her awesome fics!


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